


Those That Shine

by thechavanator



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: (as god intended), Nonbinary Sylvia | Sylvando (Dragon Quest XI), Other, Running Away From Your Problems To Join The Circus (as you do), Sylv Says Fuck Gendering Clothes, Tournament Shenanigans, awkward vague love confessions, brief appearance by hendrik. very brief., but like...if only one partner was unenthusiastic, unwilling partners to lovers, zero idea what alternate universe this is. it's just. alternate.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechavanator/pseuds/thechavanator
Summary: In a desperate bid to a) finally best Hendrik at something and b) take a brief reprieve from the self-created tension of the castle, Jasper volunteers to fight as a Heliodorian representative in Octagonia's MMA tournament. However, he's not prepared for just what awaits him there...namely, a jester, of sorts, who winds up as his tournament partner. How will Jasper ever survive?(By growing as a person and accidentally falling for said jester, of course.)
Relationships: Homer | Jasper/Sylvia | Sylvando (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	Those That Shine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daovihi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daovihi/gifts).



> "Jasper, struggling with his feelings of inferiority to Hendrik, decides that in order to prove himself Hendrik's equal, he must win the MMA tournament. He dons his disguise and goes to sign up as his carefully constructed alter ego: Golden Boy." Or, well, that was the idea deposited into sos's AU channel that immediately ran away from me the minute I started writing. ANYWAY.
> 
> So! Dao's been working their ass off writing jasvando fics for _months_ and has successfully managed to convert me to their ship. And you need like three authors to canonize a ship tag, right? SO here we are. Over a week early, because I finished early and genuinely loved this piece. Happy early birthday, Dao!!!
> 
> All the thank yous to midnight_marimba for a) depositing that idea into the world, b) enthusiastically allowing me to use it, and c) looking this over last night!!! You're a saint. Also, thankyouthankyouthankyou to nedrynwrites, omgitsaddyc, dragonquesttbh and puffinpastry for listening to me scream in your dms when I was trying to keep this secret (and being super enthusiastic about the idea!!!)

Jasper would  _ love _ to blame his current situation on fate, chance, Hendrik, Yggdrasil’s personal hatred of him for unknown crimes...but, truly, the fault for this particular set of circumstances lies squarely upon his own shoulders. 

Heliodor has been at peace for years, the only threat to its stability being the monsters that plague the outskirts of the city, but a war still rages through the castle, or at least between its two most esteemed generals. And even then, it seems purely one-sided, Hendrik either oblivious to Jasper’s frustrations or choosing to be the better man  _ (as always) _ and pushing the rivalry aside. Jasper may, at times, be blinded by his pride, but he is not (yet)  _ so  _ blinded that he fails to see that much. 

Regardless, tension is  _ clearly  _ rising in the ranks, and he could, frankly, use a break from all the praise heaped upon Hendrik, so when His Majesty suggests searching for fighters to represent Heliodor in Octagonia’s Masked Martial Arts tournament, Jasper thinks it is an  _ incredibly _ wise decision to volunteer his own services.

And yet, as he stands among his particularly...eccentric...fellow entrants, a ridiculous checkered mask adorning his face, Jasper begins to rethink every decision that led him here.

He scans the area for any partners that he might actually tolerate; there’s a monk, it seems, standing by his lonesome, saying nothing, which is likely his best option. The female fighters are too attention-drawing, given the way the men (and some of the women) in the audience fawn over them the instant the announcer so much as  _ gestures _ in their direction. If he has to put up with a lisp for more than a single battle Jasper may, in fact, hurt someone, and judging from all the complaining, the brute standing next to the more monstrous-looking one is bound to be quite irritating...

The announcer calls his number, and he stands to attention as if compelled by magic, or perhaps simply by instincts instilled in him since childhood. This will shape the course of his foreseeable future...or, in all honesty, just for the week. The next number the announcer tells the crowd doesn’t quite register in his mind, though whether that’s due to the course of his thoughts directed inwards rather than on his surroundings, or to the almost-literal  _ clown  _ waltzing directly into his personal space, is beyond his understanding now.

“Oh,  _ darling,”  _ they tell him, grasping his hands with no warning, “this is going to be a  _ glorious  _ partnership!”

Quite frankly, Jasper’s gaze had entirely skipped over this jester. He’d thought that, as much as Yggdrasil refuses to bless him with Heliodor’s adoration in the same way She has Hendrik, She certainly can’t hate him enough to pair him with  _ them.  _ They’re  _ far  _ too exuberant for his tastes, bursting with energy he cannot keep up with, and he can tell that behind their  _ terribly flamboyant _ mask, their eyes are glinting with the same infuriating light as their smile. Terrible. 

The announcer drones on in the background as the jester continues on, still refusing to venture outside of Jasper’s (admittedly generous) personal space. “Well,  _ you _ certainly look strong. The two of us will make a  _ perfect  _ team, darling. We’ll wow the crowd in no time!” Their grin could likely blind someone. Again,  _ terrible.  _ “Ah, what is your alias for the tournament?”

Ah, yes, the dreaded alias. He finds the whole concept laughable; if you are here to represent your kingdom, as Jasper is, it is surely an insult to them to engage in such...frivolity under their banner, is it not? “Goddess above, don’t associate me with that brand of nonsense. I am Sir Jasper of Heliodor, representing my kingdom, and as such, I will be fighting solely as myself.”

The jester pales for a moment, inexplicably, at the mention of Jasper’s name, but quickly shakes it off. (Strange.) “Ah-ah-ah, where’s the fun in participating if you won’t even play the part? Oh,  _ no _ , honey, you can’t stand up there without an alias!” They study him intently; Jasper has never been on a stage before, but he imagines it feels something like this, helpless under the scrutiny of a complete stranger. The only one to judge him within Heliodor’s army is His Majesty, and, perhaps, Jasper himself.

“Ah, yes, I can see it now,” they mumble as they continue their study. “I  _ might _ be able to whip something together…” The jester snaps their fingers. “I’ve got it, darling! For a pair of stars due to shine on the stage, we deserve equally dazzling stage names, yes?”

Jasper doesn’t quite follow.

“We shall be the Bullions; I will be the  _ dazzling _ Sterling Sylva, and you shall capture hearts as Golden Boy!” They twirl in place, striking a dramatic pose as Jasper grows all too aware of just how incredibly  _ long  _ this tournament is going to feel.

For a moment, he contemplates throwing his first match, making his way home embarrassed but ultimately free of these terrible jokes about  _ precious metals, _ of all things (and what a terrible selection of names. Silver always tarnishes, and gold is far too soft for a knight of his caliber. Truly poor choices for names, especially for a tournament where the two of them (in theory) intend to stand strong)...but he came here to prove himself, and should he return home with no title to his name, back to standing in Hendrik’s shadow, he may never forgive himself. Perhaps he could feign illness? No, no, his pride simply would  _ not _ stand for that.

He sighs. “Should we truly focus on this before, say, our  _ strategy?”  _ he hisses. “There will be plenty of time to debate this nonsense later.”

The jester—Sylva, he corrects himself, at least until he wrestles their real name out of them—shushes him. “Surely a noted tactician such as yourself would know not to discuss battle strategy in front of your opponents, hm?” They grin, utterly insufferable, as they watch Jasper struggle to refute their  _ unfortunately undefeatable _ statement. “There’s  _ plenty _ of time to discuss the ins and outs of tournament combat before our first battle, Golden Boy. For now, darling, I think we have time to discuss the frivolities, as you would call them.” They cast another glance down his form. “Costumes, for example.”

This will truly be a long,  _ long  _ few weeks.

\---

“Hold  _ still,  _ darling,” Sylva mumbles, fastening a never-ending collection of pins to the  _ garish _ arrangement of fabric they have decided to fashion into his tournament outfit. (A  _ skirt,  _ Sylva? Is this truly a wise choice for the battlefield?) “Neither of us want any harm to come to your pretty little head. Or the rest of you, for that matter.” They wink at him. Infuriating. 

With a final entirely-unnecessary flourish, Sylva fastens the last pin. As loath as Jasper is to admit it, they certainly have a knack for this sort of thing; the costume had gone from sketch to finished design in only a few days. (And, despite his prior skirt-related misgivings, they have gone through painstaking measures to ensure there won’t be any unfortunate wardrobe incidents.) “Ta-da!” They grasp the fabric covering the mirror in the room they share with Jasper (to his frustration), unveiling a proper look at the almost-final product. “Now, darling,” they tell him, “don’t get too excited just yet, I still have to hem the skirt and make a few more teeny-weeny adjustments, but take a look!”

Jasper, of course, had objected to the decision to costume him in the first place, as he felt that his knightly attire would do perfectly fine...but as much as Jasper truly, truly hates to admit it, the outfit actually looks decent. More than decent, if he allows himself to be perfectly honest, which under ordinary circumstances he would feel no qualms about. Really, it’s only the costumer themself that makes him feel frustrated. (Why is Jasper’s heart racing? Why does his face burn when Sylva’s hands reach out to adjust a rumpled area of his skirt? Ugh, if he’s come down with something before the tournament even starts...)

In the blink of an eye, he finds Sylva  _ far _ too close to his personal bubble. “Wait just a moment, honey. Thought of one last touch to add…” They sneak behind him, hands grasping at his ponytail as they remove the tie keeping it together. They lean over his shoulder, giggling as they glance in the mirror. “Darling, you should keep it down more! It suits you.” They wink. Infuriating.

“For better or for worse, it provides an unfortunate advantage to my opponents if it’s not kept out of the way,” he tells them. (Assuming his foes get close enough to even reach his hair.) 

“And the ponytail doesn’t?” Sylva laughs again as they comb through his hair. “For shame, Señor—ah,  _ Sir _ Jasper!” A peculiar slip of the tongue, Jasper notes. Interesting. Perhaps they’re Valorian?

Apparently content with the state of Jasper’s hair, they gather it into a ponytail once more. He would certainly argue this—after all, why bother taking it out in the first place just to tie it back up once more—but he finds himself unwilling. It’s as though some sort of spell has settled over them, one that could easily be broken by just a word, but as reluctant as Jasper had been to engage in this whole charade, he finds himself even  _ more _ reluctant to interrupt the moment.

Perhaps, even in the castle with His Majesty and the Princess and Hendrik, he had been just a bit lonely. This is the most contact—beyond sparring, at any rate—he’s had with another person since he was a child, before knighthood and scholarship had driven out any need for physical affection. (Well,  _ seemingly _ driven out, as the case may be.)

Sylva twists his ponytail, wrapping it around itself against his scalp, before fastening a few pins into the resulting bun. “Alright, darling,” they say, voice soft. “Take a look.”

Jasper opens his eyes (had he closed them at some point? Strange…) and glances at the final result of Sylva’s efforts. Back in Heliodor he may have complained that it was far too feminine for him, but Sylva seems to walk the lines between the masculine and feminine with a strange sort of confidence, and no one bats an eye. Perhaps this is worth a try, then.

It has nothing to do with his slowly-changing feelings towards Sylva. Nothing at all.

\---

As Jasper and Sylva return from their sojourn into the shops—Jasper’s arms laden with desserts, a reward for a strategy meeting successfully conducted—they find the housing unit for the MMA tournament participants abuzz with gossip.

“Don Rodrigo ish here!” one of them calls, and Jasper watches Sylva’s face pale before they rush back into the room they share. And perhaps the Jasper that first came here would have left them be, but, unfortunately, he seems to be growing fond of his partner, so he follows them.

“No, no, no,” Sylva mumbles as Jasper enters the room, lapsing into what his limited language studies lead him to believe is most likely Valorian. (Possibly Gondolian? No, judging by their earlier lapse, most definitely Valorian.) Their eyes finally seem to find him, and they jolt to attention, plastering a smile to their face. “Ah, Jasper, why aren’t you enjoying the night before our first battle! No need to fuss over little old me.”

They’ve dropped the terms of endearment and actually call Jasper by his proper name, which indicates that he does, in fact, need to fuss over them. Not that he would ever admit that. “I would rather ensure that our chances of victory tomorrow are sound, and I doubt that’s possible if you shut yourself away in here,” he tells them. “We can not afford any distractions—”

“Distractions?” They interrupt. “No, no, I am most certainly not distracted, and I will not be distracted tomorrow!”

The metaphorical gears in Jasper’s head (for all that the younger knights joke that he’s an automaton) find themselves turning, and he thinks he might just know the reason behind Sylva’s distress. (Maybe they’re both running from something by coming here…) “If the Don is searching for you, for one reason or another, that certainly seems likely to be a distraction.”

Sylva grimaces, letting the false joy slip from their face in favor of a shuddering sigh and worry-laced eyes. (Jasper imagines it’s a look at Sylva that few get the privilege to see.) “I doubt Papi would recognize me as I am now, but the last thing I want is to be forced back home.”

The (again, metaphorical) gears grind to a halt. Jasper had anticipated a runaway recruit—those aren’t terribly uncommon, with how strict both Commander Azurite and Don Rodrigo are with their charges—but the Don’s missing s—no, child? The concept had not even crossed his mind. 

He is far from proficient at comforting others—frankly, he was utterly useless at calming Hendrik when they were young—but he ought to try something...for the fate of their tournament prospects, not due to any sort of fondness for Sylva. “Even if he does, Sylva,” he begins, trying to choose his words carefully for fear of accidentally worsening the situation, “I swear on my honor as a knight that I will not allow him to take away your freedom.”

Sylva fixes him a strange look, one Jasper, for all his tactical brilliance, cannot figure out. “Thank you, Jasper, truly. And...it’s Sylv.”

Oh? Sylv, now? A nickname, or…

“That’s my name, outside of my  _ fabulous _ costume.” They grin, clearly trying to lighten the mood. And to Jasper’s immense displeasure, it  _ works. _

“Ah. Sylv, then,” he corrects.

Sylva—Sylv, offstage—pulls him into a hug, and the Jasper who first came here would have pulled away, but he can no longer bring himself to do that. If he even wants to in the first place. Truth be told, this is rather pleasant. He could settle for more of this, from time to time—

The thought strikes him all too suddenly, and he finds himself cursing every single ounce of fate that brought him here. Of course he finds himself fancying Sylv, like some sort of fawning schoolgirl. Of  _ course. _

But it is fine. He can survive. So long as he shoves this newfound part of himself deep, deep down, where no one can find it.

\---

“Well, darling,” Sylva (already in costume, prepared for battle from the instant they woke) begins, having recovered from last night’s panic and now pouring all their focus into pinning Jasper’s hair into a now-familiar bun, “have the nerves gotten to you yet?” They wink at him, kindly seeming to ignore how red Jasper’s face is flushing. (He truly wishes he had, in fact, taken ill. It would be far less embarrassing.)

He sputters in response, the very  _ picture _ of elegance as the panic of budding romance (which he thought he’d outgrown years before) threatens to overtake him. “I...I, Sir Jasper of Heliodor, have never known nervousness.” 

Laughter bubbles forth from Sylva’s mouth, a sound which only serves to fluster him more. (They have such a pleasant laugh, he finds; he’d enjoy making them laugh more, if they choose to spend more time with him after this cursed, blessed tournament.) “There’s no shame in it, honey. Everyone gets nervous now and again, even darling tactical geniuses like yourself.”

He knows that Sylva is only referring to his skill in strategizing, but he’ll allow himself to indulge in a moment of pretending that compliment was born of genuine affection. But, regardless, he’s not nervous. Well, nervous about the tournament, anyway; currently, he’s  _ far  _ more nervous about how close Sylva is to him as they finish pinning his bun. Curse these feelings.

They pull away with a flourish, as Jasper has already grown quite accustomed to (and, dare he say it, even  _ fond _ of). “All the same, darling, are you ready for the Bullions to make their grand debut?” they ask.

Not quite trusting his traitorous tongue at the moment, he simply nods, taking his place beside Sylva. For a moment, his thoughts wander back to their first meeting, and his initial reaction to his partner’s choice of aliases. Silver tarnishes, and gold is too soft, he’d thought...but he’s seen Sylv in one of their lower moments, and they’d managed to polish themself back up. And as for himself?

Well, he thinks, as he and Sylva take the stage (or the arena, as the case may be), perhaps he has gone a bit soft.

\---

“Why did you choose knighthood, darling?” Sylv asks him as the two of them wind down from their semi-final fight (a landslide victory, to the audience’s surprise; Jasper, of course, had seen it coming). “Surely a man of your intelligence would have pursued a more scholarly career!”

It’s not an uncommon question; as talented as Jasper may be with a sword, of course, he is  _ far  _ greater with (and more renowned for) magic, strategy, matters of the mind rather than the body. (Though, truth be told, he never was the type for endless research.) And, of course, he could easily dig deep down into the depths of his past, tell them of his family’s fall from grace, his mother’s desire to see him achieve greatness in the castle, his insistence on making her proud even after she passed on to Yggdrasil...but no. He settles simply for, “I wished to prove myself.”

Sylv rests their chin on their hand, leaning in closer. “And have you?”

The question gives him genuine pause, hands hovering over the remains of his bun. He supposes that, in the eyes of Heliodor, he has. But as far as his own self is concerned...truthfully, he feels that, so long as Hendrik stands as the paragon of Heliodorian knighthood, Jasper is doomed to live in his shadow. (The thought has crossed his mind, from time to time, of how much  _ easier _ his life would be, should Hendrik mysteriously vacate the picture. Most times, he wills that thought away. The day he succumbs to such frustrations would be a dark day for Erdrea, indeed.)

Sylv seems to sense his inner turmoil. “I think that’s an answer in its own right, darling.” Their gaze grows distant as they continue speaking. “I felt that way before, a  _ long _ time ago. I believed I had to live out someone else’s dreams. And the longer I lived that way, the more miserable I became.” They sigh. “Once I left home, once I stopped worrying about what Papi or anyone else thought of me, I finally felt like I could be myself!” They lean in even closer. “And I think that may be true for you as well, Jasper, darling.”

Perhaps…but Jasper, truth be told, had never  _ considered _ a life outside the knighthood. What, if anything, waits for him outside of armor and endless spars with Hendrik?

“If you will consider it, darling,” Sylv continues, a strange flush on their cheeks as they deliberately look anywhere but at Jasper, “you could join me on my journey, once this tournament has ended. I’m not entirely sure of where I am headed, yet, but I could certainly use the company.” They reach for his hand, squeezing it lightly before letting it fall back onto Jasper’s lap. As though they’ve suddenly grown nervous about something or other. Or perhaps they are merely ill.

Jasper tries to sort through the myriad thoughts in his head—does he want to stay by Sylv’s side, wherever that may be? Is it worth pining over Sylv for goddess-only-knows how long? (Is Sylv truly ill, or is Jasper merely avoiding the obvious...no, Sylv  _ must _ be ill. But, then again, Jasper had considered illness before accepting his fate as a man unfortunately in...not love, but fondness.) Or should he remain in the knighthood, striving for a ghost’s dream, lurking in Hendrik’s shadow until he finally loses his grip on his morality?

“I suppose I can entertain the notion,” Jasper tells them, and their answering grin is  _ blinding. _ As loath as he is to admit it, as reluctant as he may be to leave behind the life he knew, he knows, in this moment, his heart is truly set.

\---

In a perfect world, the Bullions would have taken the prize in the final round and would begin their grand search for life’s meaning in  _ style. _ But, as Jasper well knows, Erdrea is far from perfect, and even his formerly-flawless strategizing leaves something to be desired, it seems; the Bullions find themselves thoroughly trounced by the local orphanage’s pride and joy. Embarrassing, to say the least; what will Heliodor think? (No, no, it no longer matters what Heliodor thinks of him; at the very least, it will not matter in a week or so.)

But, somehow, Sylv’s enthusiasm seems untempered by their loss. (Though, Jasper admits, the reward for the second-place team is certainly nothing to downplay.) No, they flit about the room as they collect their belongings, still vibrant with an energy Jasper can never dream of matching. “Given Papi’s, ah, history with Heliodor, I think it’s best if I meet you outside of the city, once you’ve gathered your things,” they tell him, having apparently bundled together everything they own in the span of about three minutes. “I doubt  _ Henny-Wenny  _ or the other knights would recognize me, but as they say, better safe than sorry!”

As frustrating as it may be to tackle this challenge alone—to look His Majesty in the eye and bid farewell to the castle that practically raised him—Jasper cannot fault their logic. Neither of them want their journey to begin by evading Heliodor’s military might, as easy as it would be for him to outwit each of the knights he trained and fought beside. He nods, finally having cleared the space of the items he took here in the first place. “You’re traveling there with me, at the very least, are you not?”

“Darling, you’re stuck with me—” They cut themself off, scrambling for some other sentence for a reason that lies completely beyond Jasper’s understanding. “Ah, that is, I shall be by your—no, no, no, that sounds…” They trail off, murmuring something under their breath that Jasper cannot quite catch.

Once more, the gears in his head grind and turn, and all too suddenly he recognizes Sylv’s condition; it seems it mirrors his own. Jasper, for all of his pride, cannot fathom why, but he feels now is probably the best time to give up on his old habit of questioning Yggdrasil’s ways. “I would...truly appreciate it,” he tells them, which is, admittedly, a fairly nonspecific way of discussing his feelings. He has, truthfully, never been the most open about his thoughts.

But it seems fine by Sylv, who beams in response. “Delighted to hear it, darling! Now, let’s move along before the organizers try to convince us to stay.” They wink at him as they almost dance out of the room.

That...likely did not come across in a romantic fashion. Wonderful. He’ll have to try another time. And yet, he cannot work up the courage during the entire wagon ride back to the Zwaardsrust port, the entire boat trip to the Emerald Coast, even their journey on foot to Heliodor…

All he can really muster the bravery for is his conversation with His Majesty and his farewell to Hendrik and the rest of the knights. Somehow, this goes off without a hitch; His Majesty is almost  _ alarmingly _ understanding, and he and Hendrik end their rivalry on genuinely good terms (and one last spar, for good measure; Jasper, for once, feels no ill will when Hendrik wins as always).

It takes little time to salvage what’s left of his belongings from his room in the castle; he’s always been a man of few means. In but a few minutes, all that’s left in his room is the furniture provided by His Majesty. Really, it’s strange; he’s all but grown up here in the castle, and yet he’s not nearly as conflicted about leaving as he’d expected himself to be.

Perhaps, at the end of the day, Sylv was right. He has to live for himself, and if he cannot shine as he desires in Heliodor, in His Majesty’s service, perhaps it truly is best that he leave this life behind him. (To think, he traveled to Octagonia to best Hendrik, and yet that very city proved to be the place where he learned to let that rivalry go…)

Sylv meets him outside the city walls, as they had planned. “No last-minute cold feet, darling?” they ask with a cheeky grin as they stow his bags on a cart they’ve rented for the journey. “If you’ve burned any bridges, I can’t promise they can be rebuilt!”

Jasper shakes his head, daring to actually  _ smile _ at his partner in...well, his partner in whatever it is they intend on doing from here on out. “So long as I do not take this journey alone, I’m certain I shall muddle through  _ somehow.” _

Sylv laughs, and Jasper finds his heart swelling with fondness yet again. It’s almost irritating, in all honesty. He thinks back to the trip back here, to dozens of missed opportunities to state his true feelings...he really should do something to rectify that. Sylv is certainly no lady—or man, for that matter—but if he is going to lay his knighthood to rest here, he may as well send it off in a meaningful manner.

He reaches for Sylv’s hand, bringing it to his lips and lightly pressing a kiss to the back. “Shall we?” he murmurs, watching their face burn crimson as they try to form some semblance of a coherent sentence.

The lack of an immediate response is of no concern to Jasper, of course. The two of them have  _ plenty _ of time to discuss.

\---

Some time later, when Sir Hendrik is  _ kindly requested _ to pay a visit to the Gallopolitan circus, he is not entirely surprised to find that Don Rodrigo’s vanished child has taken the stage as Sylv the Great.

He is, however,  _ greatly _ surprised to find a familiar face in their half-scowling assistant. He has never been the most gifted at deciphering the inner workings of his friends and companions, but Jasper had never struck him as the type to get involved in what he would call  _ frivolity.  _ And, frankly, he had thought the performance itself to be the end of today’s litany of wonders, and yet the night somehow manages to top even itself as he exits the tent to find his former sparring partner embracing his  _ other _ former sparring partner. (Possibly even...kissing, if Hendrik’s eyes are not betraying him?)

“Ah, Henny, darling!” Sylv greets him. “I hear you’ve already met my  _ darling _ partner here?” They gesture towards Jasper, who, for the first time in longer than Hendrik can remember, seems genuinely  _ happy. _

Somehow, in looking at Jasper’s face, Hendrik finds himself less confused.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: thechavanator (main) / eleven-of-light (DQ spoilers) / chellion-characters (OCs)  
> twitter: nonotfromportal (main) / dqChellion (fandom)  
> discord: Chel!#2061
> 
> not shown in this fic: me casually goin HEY WOULDN'T JASPER IN A SKIRT BE GREAT and gauging reactions. it was very fun to throw stuff like that into the void. hehehehe.


End file.
